


icarus who kissed the sunlight

by worryseed (orphan_account)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Laboratory, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Arson, Fire, First Kiss, Flashbacks, M/M, Mentioned Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Mentioned Lee Chan | Dino, Mentioned Yoon Jeonghan, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, jun is an angel (literally!), references to icarus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/worryseed
Summary: “Has anyone ever compared you to Icarus?  You know, wings and all,”  he asks, staring at Junhui thoughtfully and pushing his glasses up his nose.“If I’m Icarus, I don’t think I’ve had my chance to get anywhere near the sun just yet,”
Relationships: Wen Jun Hui | Jun/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30
Collections: ENFANT D'ÉTÉ - ROUND 1





	icarus who kissed the sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this has been a long ride, and i'd like to give my greatest thanks to the mods of enfant d'été for organizing this :-) 
> 
> this is a new theme from my regular works! i had a lot of fun writing it :p

Junhui’s whole life has been made up of these sterile white rooms and halls, stretching as far as he can see. He’s never been outside, never been allowed to. The mere idea of being outside is something as impossible to reach as the moon. He knows he was born here, and he knows he’ll probably die here.

It’s what comes with life, when your life has been spent in a laboratory closed off to the ordinary world, having studies performed on you as a bunch of men in white coats poke around, trying to find out what’s wrong. 

What’s wrong with Junhui is that a pair of white, feathery wings sprouted out of his back at a young age, cementing his fate as a mutant creature doomed to live out his days in this cage of white walls. 

It’s funny how those wings, that are supposed to let him fly, are what’s keeping him chained down. 

He’s gotten used to the routine of the lab, the blur of days moving on and on with no change. The scientists don’t like them asking if they’ll ever get something new to do, but he asks every day nonetheless. 

_Every day._ When one of the scientists unlocks his door and slides it open, he’s already awake. He hopes it’s Seokmin. Seokmin is his favourite. He’s made Junhui feel comfortable here ever since they were both little and allowed to run around a lot more than they are now.

It turns out it is Seokmin, but he’s got someone else in tow. He’s chattering excitedly to a man about his age, with clad in the same white coat the rest of the scientists wear. It has his name embroidered on it, above his heart. _Xu Minghao._

He hasn’t seen anyone new come into this lab since Chan arrived, and seeing a new scientist, his hair long and black and curled up on the back of his neck, is like a breath of fresh air. 

Junhui thinks he’s beautiful. He looks fragile, like he’d burst into a million little pieces if he were to be gripped too tightly, but there’s a glint in his eye that says otherwise. 

Seokmin must notice him staring, because he pushes the new arrival forward. 

“Hi, Junhui, this is Minghao! I went to high school with him. He went back home to finish college, but he’s back to help us here now. Seungcheol says you’ve been doing well during testing recently, so I’m gonna let you show him around the lab as a reward!” He grins at the two of them, acting like they’ve known each other for years.

 _Typical Seokmin._ Junhui thinks. _Not all of us have your social capacities._

“And miss breakfast?” 

“Yep,” Seokmin says, sliding open the door. “Go later.” 

It’s clear to him, when they leave the tiny room, that Minghao doesn’t have Seokmin’s supercharged social battery either. Seokmin leaves them standing there in silence in front of Junhui’s room as he passes a keycard over and runs (something he is definitely not supposed to do) down the hall to the left, towards the cafeteria. 

“Um… I’m Junhui,” he says, shifting his feet back and forth. “Wen Junhui. In case you forgot.” 

_Idiot, he knows that. A pretty boy gets here and you forget how to act._

Minghao looks at him with an amused little smirk, evaluating him as his eyes trace the details of his face. “Minghao. You’re giving me a tour, right? Will you be able to answer questions?” 

Junhui frowns. “I’ve only been here all my life. If I can’t, there’s a problem.” 

“Okay, so how many others are here with you? Do you have specific rules?” Minghao counts on his fingers like a child, his face scrunching up as his curiosity takes over. “Seokmin didn’t tell me much. The only thing I know is that none of you can go outside. He said that’s like the number one rule in here.”

Junhui flinches like he’s been hit. That rule. Most of the others in the lab have been outside before, picked up off the streets or transferred from somewhere else. Joshua was transferred from overseas, in America, so he’s even been on an actual plane. Junhui isn’t one of them. The outdoors is a mystery to him. He’s been shown pictures of places far away, like Canada and France, and some closer. But he’s never gotten to experience it for himself, and it’s not likely he ever will.

Minghao notices his change in expression and tries to backpedal a little. “Sorry. So, why are you here? You haven’t, like, breathed fire or anything in the time we’ve been out here.” 

Junhui sighs. He doesn’t overly like having to do this every time he’s asked, but the rips in the back and sides of his cheap grey shirt are there for a reason. He turns, unfurling his wings and stretching them slightly before letting them extend along the wall. 

“Eleven-foot wingspan,” he smiles tiredly, waiting for the recoil that he’s come to expect. “That’s why.” 

He doesn’t step back. _Surprise one._

Minghao is looking at him like no one ever has before, like someone is finally seeing him. Not just shelving him off to the side like he’s an inanimate object, as usual. Minghao is looking at him like he hung the moon, like he wants something that can only be found nestled inside Junhui’s chest, between his ribs. _Surprise two._

“Can I touch them?” Minghao asks, voice tinged with awe. 

“Go ahead,” he turns his head to grin softly. “Be gentle.” 

Junhui jerks forward at Minghao’s touch, even though he was expecting it. This is the gentlest anyone has ever been with him, and the soft stroking motion Minghao is using to slide his hand down the length of his left wing, flattening the feathers, is soothing. 

“Thank you, Junhui. They’re beautiful,” Minghao says, letting a tiny smile that turns up the corners of his mouth appear on his face. “Can I call you Jun?” 

_You can call me anything you like._ “Sure.”  
“Okay then, Jun, can we finish the tour? I’m curious about everyone else now.”

Junhui curls his wings back into their resting position. “None of them are quite like me, but they’ll do.” 

Silence falls, weighted with something Junhui can’t quite pinpoint. His stomach feels funny, like someone just dropped a lit match into it, new emotions rising hot and unfamiliar. 

A knock echoes through the hallway, followed by a soft voice. 

“Could someone open the door, please?” it calls, soft and weak-sounding. “I’m hungry.” 

Minghao straightens up, flipping the keycard given to him by Seokmin in bony fingers. “Who’s that?” 

“Joshua. When you open the door, don’t touch him. Don’t shake his hand, anything like that. You’re probably the type to want to be polite, but don’t bother. Seungcheol estimates he has over 200 volts of electricity stored up,” Junhui replies. “Oh, and don’t let him into Mingyu’s room. Like, ever. Remember that.” 

Minghao frowns slightly, furrowing his eyebrows but saying nothing. He steps forward and taps the little rectangle of white plastic to the scanner with its glowing red light. It beeps and turns green, the door sliding open to reveal Joshua, clad in the same grey outfit as Junhui, minus the tears.

His eyes are heavy with the purple ghosts of shadows as he moves through the doorway, black hair greasy and matted. He offers a whispered hello and a half-smile to the pair outside, twitching when he realizes Minghao is no one he knows. 

Minghao introduces himself, talking softly, like you’d speak to a frightened animal. His careful manner seems to soothe a little of Joshua’s nervousness, Junhui notices. He’s never really seen that in any of the people here, scientists and other captives alike, most of them instead treating Joshua like he’s a broken toy that can’t be fixed, one that can take a rough playtime and not tear any more than he has already. 

Gentleness is not the standard here. You learn to keep your head above water or you drown, forced under by hands made of iron. 

Junhui doesn’t notice he’s lost in thought until a tap on his shoulder startles him out of his daze and he realizes Joshua is halfway down the hall, mumbling to himself as he goes. 

Minghao’s expression is hard to read as he too stares at Joshua’s back. 

“Not quite what you expected?” Junhui’s voice echoes, rough and full of bitterness that weaves through it like ribbon. “It’s not exactly paradise here.”

He receives no response other than Minghao pulling out his phone to check the time, hair falling in a curtain around his face. It lights an angry flare inside him, how someone could walk into this pit of a laboratory and think that the humans being tested on like rats are all content with being treated like they should’ve been drowned at birth. 

“Who’s next?” Minghao asks. 

Junhui catches a slight tremble in his voice, and he’s about to get angry again, at a newcomer feeling shallow pity for them when he hasn’t lived through what they have, until he looks up to see rage in Minghao’s expression, the kind with the power to set the world on fire when used just right. 

It’s scary and almost new, yet familiar in a way that he’s seen in almost no one but himself, caught in a second’s glimpse of his reflection usually seen from the many security cameras with their watchful, blinking red eyes, trained on him from every corner. They aren’t allowed real glass to look at anymore, not after an incident involving shards of a broken mirror and an idiotic student leaving Joshua unsupervised that nearly took a life. _Not the time to be remembering that._

“Hansol,” he replies. “You’ll have to wait a bit for him to come out. He’s handcuffed. Don’t stare at his arms, he hates that.” 

Minghao tilts his head in confusion, trying to fit the pieces together. “Why would he be handcuffed?” 

Junhui sighs. He doesn’t like having to air out the dirty laundry of his friends to show to someone he’s just met today, but this is important information that could cause injury if left to lie. “His nails. They’re as sharp as switchblades. He’s in the cuffs because he attacked Chan once. Scratched his face and cut him up pretty bad. He didn’t mean to, it was a panic reaction and Chan just happened to be in his way. But he’s stuck like that now.” 

Before Minghao can react with anything other than a look, another scientist appears at the end of the extensive hallway, to their right. His hair is dyed a light green that makes him look like a highlighter pen as he flies around the corner, moving at a much faster pace than what should technically be allowed when you’re holding a tray of glass vials and metal tools. 

He’s in front of them in the blink of an eye, squinting up at Minghao and hardly sparing a glance at Junhui. His face is pallid in the harsh lights of the hall, dark circles lining his eyes giving away stress and exhaustion. 

“Lee Jihoon,” he says, running a hand through his bright hair and frowning when his fingers catch in tangled strands. “I take it you’re Xu Minghao? Seungcheol wants you to know you only have to open the last two doors in this hall, we had someone else do the rest.” 

He’s off again before Minghao even has the chance to put out his hand, leaving behind the faint scent of something floral and mumbling to himself about someone in solitary confinement. The hallway was deserted again, devoid of any other sign of life besides the pairing of captive and captor, and the faint thudding sound of someone banging frantically on the door they face. 

Minghao taps his card fast this time, letting the door slide open to a figure hunched on the ground before them, rocking slightly. With every movement comes a clink of metal from the restraints chaining together a pair of hands covered in yellow-green bruises and old, faded scars.  
It’s almost impossible not to notice the way the newer, pink scars lace up his arms, leaving barely any smooth, pale skin left besides the rings where the cuffs sit, or the way his nails taper off into lethal-looking points. 

Junhui hears a tiny inhalation that is probably concealing a much bigger exclamation of shock from Minghao, and honestly, he doesn’t blame him, is a sick kind of proud, for the lack of reaction. Hansol is a difficult sight to see, even to those who have known him for years. 

His arms extend automatically to haul Hansol up by the armpits, fingers circling almost completely around his forearm. He doesn’t bother with a greeting, at least not a verbal one, keeping it brief with a quick nod that goes unreturned. 

Hansol is heavily drugged up at most times of the day, and now is no exception. He can’t sleep without receiving a needle that looks more like a horse tranquiliser than something that should be actively used on a human being. His eyes look unfocused, but he zeroes in on Minghao enough to show that his medication is wearing off. Before Junhui has the chance to let him stand on his own terms, he struggles feebly in the newcomer’s direction, clinking his chains. 

Minghao steps closer, flinching when Hansol lifts both wrists up in an effort to touch his face, running a scarred finger down the length of his clean-shaven jaw. A thin pink line appears near his chin, where a fingernail pokes at him curiously. Something seems to click in between them, Hansol stepping free of Junhui’s hold with a tiny smile that barely lifts the corners of his mouth. He turns without a word, heading in the same direction Joshua had gone earlier, moving with an odd, shuffling gait. 

Minghao is cupping his cheek where the cut now shines with tiny beads of red, but the look on his face is one of endearment. He spins to face Junhui and wipes his hand on his coat, staining it. 

“He’s almost like a child,” Junhui says, eyes fixed on a trail of drying blood on Minghao’s skin. “His meds reduce his mental capacity. He’ll like you if you’re gentle and patient with him.” 

“Ah,” Minghao replies, distracted. He’s sketching something in a tiny blue notebook, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. 

Junhui peeks over his shoulder to look, noting that he is at least two or three inches taller than Minghao. The lined paper bears a few rips from the speed of Minghao’s writing, accompanied by a sketch of Hansol that is surprisingly accurate. Junhui has always thought scientist’s minds were too occupied by more complex thoughts to produce anything more than rough sketches, as he’s seen in the lab, but Minghao proves to have a talent. 

Minghao turns the page over to the one before it, and Junhui spots a drawing of his wings. The lines making it up are light and precise, painting a piece that Junhui thinks is too perfect. He’s just a test subject to Minghao, really, so why does he merit pretty pictures? 

The answer to that question is just out of reach. He can feel it tickle his fingertips as he chases it, but it is foggy and unsure in his brain. 

Minghao pushes open the heavy door to the canteen area and disappears, signalling to Junhui that the arrival of this newcomer does not mean anything will change. Lab life is the same as ever, for now.

—

Everyone inside the lab receives a schedule, first thing in the morning. The scientists come in with stamps, customized with different jobs for each “resident,” pressing the rubber to the inside of everyone’s arms. The ink is resistant to water, and efforts to rub it off do not work. Seokmin comes around a few minutes before the doors are locked for the night with some sort of chemical that dissolves it, but before then, you’re trapped. Your schedule is meant to be followed, and ditching whatever is marked usually sticks you with meal cuts or extra blood drawn the following day.

Junhui cuts his frequently, not really fearing the consequences of those actions anymore. His favourite spot to evade testing or chores is underneath the lab’s only window, where a thin ray of sunlight comes in to pool on the linoleum. The window is high up and too skinny for him to fit through, he crossed it out as a possible escape route long ago, but the little rectangle of sun it makes on the floor is a small form of pleasure, allowing him to bask like a cat in its light and dream of other things far out of his limited reach. 

He is sitting there one day, about two weeks after Minghao’s arrival, listening to faint yelling coming from a room far enough away to be out of his concern. Jihoon is probably looking for him as he’s scheduled for the monthly examination of his wings, where the scientists pluck feathers here and there, causing a pain that feels like the hole left by a lost tooth. 

He’s considering just getting up and actually going to the room he’s supposed to be in, to save Jihoon a light lecture from their head scientist, Seungcheol, but footsteps approaching change his mind within a second. Maybe Jihoon is onto him already? 

Instead of seeing the familiar neon hair, Minghao pops his head around the corner. He has thick glasses today in place of his usual contacts. They make him look nerdy, yet he pulls them off in a way that makes jealousy and a tinge of something else bubble up in Junhui’s stomach. His face is somehow made for anything and everything, with sharp features like a model’s. 

Junhui’s mouth opens in an O. “Anyone ever tell you you’re too pretty for this lab shit?”

“Jihoon sent me to find you, and to let you know he’s sick of your shit, to be blunt,” Minghao says, a smile playing over his lips and a light blush appearing on his cheekbones. “Why so shocked to see me?” 

“You can tell Jihoon to piss off,” Junhui mumbles, eliciting a snort from Minghao, who is now sliding down to join him on the ground, crossing his legs. “I’m not shocked to see you, really, but I thought you’d have more to do rather than act like my babysitter.” 

“Jihoon thinks you like me best,” Minghao says, ripping open a packet of potato chips pulled from his coat and silently offering the bag to Junhui.  
Illegal on so many levels. Junhui likes it. “He’s right.” 

They sit in silence for a while, the only sound being the crunching of chips, until Minghao speaks again. 

“Has anyone ever compared you to Icarus? You know, wings and all,” he asks, staring at Junhui thoughtfully and pushing his glasses up his nose. 

Thankfully, Junhui knows enough about Greek mythology through a dog-eared, stained old book of myths that he and Seokmin would spend hours poring over as kids, stolen from the backpack of one of the students present in the lab at the time. That student had spent days asking everyone around the place if they had seen the book, evidently precious to her. Junhui and Seokmin had felt too stubborn to give up one of their only sources of entertainment, so they kept their lips sealed tight. 

The following week, that student had died in some sort of accident involving Joshua, so it really didn’t matter that they had kept the book. Junhui knows Seokmin still feels awful about it. He knew that when he watched Seokmin exit the heavy metal doors, usually barred 24/7, for a guard-supervised visit to the dirt in front of the lab to bury the book.  
He explained to Junhui after that he wanted her to have something to take with her when she went wherever lost souls go. Seokmin has always been too kind for what takes place behind the doors of this building. 

Junhui sat in sullen silence. He had tried to follow Seokmin out the doors too, to take part in something they had started together and were supposed to finish together, but a guard had yanked him up by the armpits when he took so much as a step outside, crushing some of his feathers with his tight grip. 

“Freaks can’t go outside,” the guard drawled, oblivious to Junhui kicking him in the shins as hard as he could muster. “Only time you get to leave is when you’re dead.” 

Junhui had still been a dreamer at eleven, but the harsh words of reality taking the form of some guard that he didn’t even know the name of snatched his biggest bit of fantasy material out of the air and crushed it like it was a weak little fly and not what kept him going every day. 

He realizes he’s probably been staring into space for at least a minute. Minghao is looking at him with a gaze that makes him feel like he's been hollowed. Is his mind being read? Stupid idea to have, but he can’t help it crossing his train of thought. He shakes his head like a wet dog, clearing his muddled brain. 

“If I’m Icarus, I don’t think I’ve had my chance to get anywhere near the sun just yet,” he replies, forcing his eyes up to meet Minghao’s. “This lab is my prison, if you will.”

“You’ll see the sun someday, Junhui. Maybe even get the chance to touch it,” Minghao says, cryptic. 

Junhui tilts his head in confusion. “Don’t count on it.” 

Minghao ignores the response completely and pushes himself up, stretching his legs, but Junhui is filled with questions fizzing in his brain like a soft drink. 

_What the fuck does he mean by that? I’m destined to die here, and he knows it. Is he fucking with me?_

The slightest chance of his oldest wish, one that feels like a book with corners turned soft from how many times he’s gone over it, coming true, is a concept unheard of. It’s been ground into each subject’s brain over and over that they have no future, that they’re test subjects and nothing else. 

Minghao is different than that, from the people who have made his life hell and crushed his ability to dream over all these years. Minghao makes Junhui feel _human._

—

Junhui’s forehead is resting on one of the tables in the canteen area when the grating sound of metal chair legs against linoleum alert him to the presence of someone else at the table. He stares at their shoes under the table, knowing immediately that whoever it is is a scientist. The subjects wear canvas shoes or none at all, but everyone working is required to wear black closed-toe footwear. Fucked up, if you ask Junhui, because subjects here do just as much work as scientists and there are all sorts of dangerous materials in their testing rooms.

Seokmin’s voice rings out and Junhui decides this won’t be as unpleasant as expected. 

“Jun, have you ever been in love?” Seokmin asks, voice dreamy. 

“No,” Junhui replies, voice muffled through the table. “Did Jeonghan look at you today or something?” 

Seokmin flops into the chair beside Junhui, sighing dramatically. When Junhui looks up, his hand is covering his eyes in a reenactment of a swooning Victorian woman.  
“He did more than look, Junnie. He healed up a little scratch I got from Hansol the other day, without me even asking or anything. Do you think it’s meant to be?” Seokmin says, grinning. 

Seokmin has been harboring a crush on one of the other subjects, Jeonghan, for as long as Junhui can remember. It’s so, _so_ illegal for scientists to have feelings for the subjects, and if anyone so much as suspected him, he could be reported and kicked from the lab. 

It happened a few years back, when a scientist was caught secretly developing a plan to make gloves for Hansol so that he could move without cuffs, but still be unable to badly injure anyone. It was decided that he showed different views than the laboratory’s plans and he was to be removed immediately. Seokmin had watched as he was shot in the head behind the building. He couldn’t let it go for weeks, refusing to leave his living compartment and moving around the halls with a dead stare. If the man had been allowed to leave, secrets could have been spilled that could have ruined the studies going on here. Junhui secretly wishes that he had gone out and spread the word. Maybe he wouldn’t be trapped here if the public knew what was really going on. 

The death of that scientist was meant to send a message, and it played its part perfectly. Show any feelings for a subject, and you get a one-way ticket to your grave. 

Junhui knows Seokmin is still head over heels for the man brought in all those years ago with a long ponytail of dyed platinum-blond hair and tears running down his cheeks. He knows Seokmin risks everything he has to sneak in and visit Jeonghan whenever he can, and to be assigned for his testing in order to try to keep him safe in any small way he can. That’s just how it is. So far no one has caught on. Junhui dreads the thought of what would happen if anything was discovered. Even losing Seokmin for a few days while he was at the hospital recovering from appendicitis had made it painfully clear that the other scientists put up with his shit thanks to Seokmin’s status and protection. 

He crosses that idea out of his mind. It’s disgusting that his first thought upon realizing the danger that his friend is in at all times is about himself and how he would deal with the ripples from it. 

“Yeah, Seokmin, him wiping his fucking _eye juice_ on you to fix a scrape is totally a sign he wants to marry you,” Junhui says, rolling his eyes. “So romantic.” 

Seokmin pouts, smacking Junhui’s shoulder. “You’re so boring. When you actually like someone, then you’ll understand.” 

Junhui snorts as Seokmin gets up to leave, babbling about his afternoon job, collecting tears from Jeonghan in little eye-droppers in order to study their healing properties and how he hates to make him cry for experiments. 

_If you hate it so much, why not rebel? Why not escape with him?_ Junhui thinks, somewhat bitterly. He isn’t sure why he’s this annoyed over a small detail that doesn’t even concern him, but his old thoughts of rebelling and leaving have been bubbling up in his mind again ever since Minghao’s arrival. 

Speak of the devil. Minghao comes in like he knows he was an occupant of Junhui’s mind and plops into the seat across from him. They’ve built a tentative friendship over meeting at Junhui’s spot in the back, both skipping duties to talk. Minghao is so _perfect,_ telling Junhui about how he likes to draw and paint in his limited free time, how he considers himself half-decent at photography and wants to learn how to develop photos the old-fashioned way. Junhui’s face flushes every time Minghao looks him in the eye. He likes to think it isn’t noticeable. 

“Hey,” he says, sticking one of his legs out and resting his foot on Junhui’s thigh. “I brought you some stuff that I made.” 

Junhui can feel the spot where their skin meets burning, but he chooses to ignore it and forces his real smile, the one with teeth that he saves for Seokmin, and as recently discovered, Minghao. 

“Can I see?” he asks, leaning forward and trying to pretend he can’t feel blood rushing up to his cheeks. 

Minghao passes over one of his little notebooks, green this time, with “Sketches” written on the front in thin black marker. 

Junhui opens it to find drawings of himself pencilled on each page, each line perfectly drawn. Minghao has sketched him sitting at his spot in the forgotten part of the lab, restrained in his testing chair, laughing with someone else who could only be Seokmin with his heart-shaped grin. He flips through to the very end, where a page shows him flying over the ocean, leaving behind a building that appears to be smoking, stretching out over an island. The sun is overtop of him, too, and a few drips fall from his wings. 

“Have I escaped the fate of Icarus? Or am I destined to fall as well?” Junhui asks, fingers tracing the lines of his drawn wings. 

“In my mind, you’ve escaped. You flew far away and built the life you’ve always wanted for yourself and you live without restrictions. You’re free, Jun. You can finally live outside,” Minghao replies. He leans in close, whispered words tickling the shell of Junhui’s ear as he swings his foot off his lap. “And ‘m gonna make it happen, I think. Get you out of here. Maybe some others too, if I can.” 

Junhui jerks back in shock, unable to control the emotions that flash through his mind and across his face. His voice lowers, tinged with a buzz of excitement. “How?”

“Got in contact with Seokmin using a burner phone, about a year ago. He told me about the conditions here, and that I should try to get a job, to spy, if I could. So now I’m here, I guess. My ultimate goal is to destroy the lab using any means that I can. Meeting you was just a bonus,” he says. “You’ve had my attention since I got here, Jun. Not just because you have those wings. You’re beautiful. You’re my motivation to continue reporting my weeks here, my muse for everything I create in this building.” 

Junhui freezes, heart in his throat. _The lab, destroyed? Minghao thinks about me as much as I think about him? Will Seokmin be okay?_ His brain races a mile a minute, and before he really slows down and thinks about what he’s going to do next, he leans in and presses his lips to Minghao’s. It feels like snapping two puzzle pieces together and his whole body tingles, a second before he snaps back to reality, kicking his chair over by accident as he flees the scene, slamming the door shut and leaving Minghao to sit in stunned silence, alone at the table.

—

He ends up in a room occupied by a huge tank filled with water, lit up by a glowing green light that flickers every once in a while. The hum of the tank soothes him, and he takes a deep breath before raising his hand and knocking to wake the boy sleeping at the glass bottom, tiny fizzing bubbles leaving his nose as he exhales. 

Water spills down the sides of the tank as the man starts and uncurls himself, a loose, wet grey shirt flowing around his thin frame, pushing off the floor and up to the surface with fish-like agility, Slits in the side of his neck flap in the slight currents moving the tank water as he surveys Junhui from up above where he floats. 

Junhui rubs the back of his neck and hopes that Mingyu can’t see the obvious red flush making its way up his face. He doesn’t want to be asked about it, yet the image of what happened crawls around his mind like a bug and threatens to leap off his tongue by itself. 

Of course Mingyu asks about it. He can read Junhui better than anyone, although Minghao is getting good at it as well. 

“What happened, Junhui?” he asks, bubbles pouring from his mouth. 

They’ve gotten used to talking like this. When Mingyu first arrived, in a much smaller tank than the one he has now, eyes huge and scared after being abandoned at the hospital by his father, they figured out pretty quick that Mingyu’s voice above water distorts and becomes gibberish to outside ears, like how voices usually sound underwater. It still freaks Junhui out a little bit to be able to hear and understand him speak with water flooding his mouth and nose. 

“Nothing. I mean _something,_ but like, not that important…” Junhui rambles, words running ahead of his brain. “Okay, you know Minghao, right?” 

Mingyu snorts. “Obviously. The guy you’ve been fawning over for like, weeks? Never cleans the filter of this shit-filled prison out properly?” He lets off a string of curses before flashing his teeth in a sharp-tooth-filled grin. “Sorry. Yeah, what about him?” 

“Um,” Junhui says, choosing to ignore the _fawning over for weeks_ comment. He blows a bit of air onto the side of the tank and draws a heart in the condensation, letting his palm rest against the cool barrier between him and the green-tinted water. “Might’ve kissed him. And he told me about an escape plan.” 

Mingyu opens his eyes so wide Junhui is sure they’re going to pop out of his head before he smacks the glass so hard the tank shudders. “Jun, what the fuck?” 

“No big deal, really,” Junhui replies with a smile, tapping Mingyu’s cheek on the glass where he has drifted down to stare at Junhui eye to eye. 

_“Big fucking deal,”_ Mingyu counters, face turning serious. “Boy of your dreams comes in to sweep you off your feet and rescue you from your tower like in a fairy tale? This is literally your only chance, Junhui. Get out of here while you can. Promise me?” 

His hand meets Junhui’s on the glass, fingers stretching slightly longer. 

“Promise,” Junhui says. “You’ll be there too, I’ll make sure of it.” 

Mingyu smiles, dark eyes filled with sadness, and pulls his hand away, returning to the bottom of the tank as the door clicks shut, lights flickering off completely. 

Junhui blinks in the bright light of the hallway. He feels like a weight has come off of his shoulders, but a new pit sinks deep in his stomach. Mingyu told him to leave while he can, but he didn’t include anything about bringing anyone. Does he think Junhui is selfish or horrid enough to want to leave his friends here? _If I’m leaving, Mingyu and Seokmin have to come too. They have to._

Bile rises in his throat as he realizes the only thing that is the same on his and Minghao’s mental list is him.

—

Junhui dreams that night of a little boy gasping face-down in a bathtub, kicking furiously and struggling as a man shrouded in shadow watches from a far corner of the scene. That same boy, again, dark wet hair spread over a bright white pillow and eyes shut, breathing shallowly and mumbling about needing water. The shadow man speaks with a white-clad figure, arms waving frantically as the boy in the bed coughs and chokes in a desperate act to survive. One more scene, flickering at the edges like an old movie, of the boy in a small tank filled three-quarters full with water, sitting cross-legged at the bottom. The enclosure bounces and shakes; he is inside a moving car and he is being taken away. Junhui feels the boy’s panic and terror and it’s all building up and now he’s panicking too- 

A hand shakes him awake and another covers his mouth. He looks up through sleep-blurry vision until the shape of Minghao’s thin face comes into sharp focus. 

“Sorry” Minghao whispers. “Had to make sure you wouldn’t scream. Anyway, we have to leave right now. I’m destroying the lab. Tonight.” 

Junhui rips Minghao’s palm off his mouth. “Now? What fucking time is it?” he hisses, glaring. 

“Two-thirty a.m.” Minghao replies. “And we gotta go. Save the questions for later.” He swings a can of something that Junhui doesn’t recognize up onto the cot with its twisted, thin blankets. _Gasoline,_ the label reads. 

“Holy shit, Minghao, _gas?_ ” Junhui whisper-yells. He’s standing up already, ready to go. He has nothing that belongs to him, nothing he wants to bring with him out into the real world. 

“Yep,” Minghao replies, carelessly. He pulls matches out of the pocket of his coat. “We’re letting this place burn, baby!” 

They lead a careful trail of gasoline down the dark and empty hallways, making sure to step softly past the wing where all the scientists should be. A guard lies near the locked doors, out cold. Junhui asks no questions. 

Their final path takes them straight to the entrance of the lab, another door with no distinct markings. Junhui wouldn’t recognize it if he passed it the next day. Except he wouldn’t pass it the next day, because he would be free. _Hopefully._

Minghao pulls out his matches again and prepares to flick one alight. “I’ve already disabled the alarm system and we have someone waiting outside to get us out of here,” he whispers, voice buzzing with excitement, or nerves. “And anaesthetic. I’ll explain later.”

Junhui nods. His mind is racing and his heart is pumping so fast it might burst out of his chest, not only from the adrenaline rush, but because Minghao wears the brightest smile he’s ever seen, shining in the dark. 

The sound of the gasoline setting alight feels like freedom. Junhui pauses to watch for a second as the bright light fills the halls, then turns and slips out the door with Minghao, melting into the night. 

The lab is built in a large, empty field, with no end in sight as far as Junhui can see. A black car is parked a few metres away, engine running. Minghao jogs over to it and opens the door as the crack of an explosion rings out behind them in the lab, slowly setting alight. Junhui catches a glimpse of Seokmin in the driver’s seat and relief washes over him like a tidal wave, knowing that his best friend is safe and not going up in flames like everyone else inside. 

_Everyone else._ The thought hits Junhui like a slap and he throws himself out of the car, sprinting for the glowing lab. Another explosion booms, and he can hear the voices of both Minghao and Seokmin screaming for him to come back as he disappears through the door. 

Junhui’s first thought is _this is what it’s like to be in hell._ Smoke fills the air as he coughs, trying to catch his breath with almost no oxygen. The halls glow orange as he runs, dodging fires as best as he can. He passes the scientist’s wing again, stopping to take a quick look at the situation of those who imprisoned him. 

_Hopeless._ Fire spreads around the door in a semicircle, leading Junhui to believe Minghao placed gas there on purpose. He grits his teeth and moves on as a yell sounds from behind him. He can’t save them, and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to. 

His brain feels foggy from lack of air when he reaches the block containing his friends, heart sinking as he realizes Minghao’s keycard is in the car. He bangs on one of the sliding doors frantically, hoping whoever is inside is still alive. 

No response. 

Junhui’s knuckles bleed red tears as he sinks onto the floor. 

_They’re all gonna die it’s all my fault I forgot about them they’re never gonna see the outside like I promised._

A small fire burns near his foot. He feels like his brain is dying as he moves robotically, hoisting himself off the ground and towards the last place he knows is left. 

Mingyu’s door is the only one with a handle in the building. It burns to the touch and Junhui thinks he screams for a moment before realizing it’s Minghao screaming at him to _move Jun your wings are on fire we need to go you can’t save him your wings your wings your wings._

His last coherent thought before his eyes slide shut is _The fall of Icarus, the fall of Wen Junhui, wax wings or not, I’m still about to hit the water._

—

He surfaces for a minute through a haze of drugs to Minghao clutching his hand desperately, screaming at Seokmin to move faster, that they need to get to his apartment _now._ His hands are scorched red and look hot, and Junhui realizes blurrily that he’s burnt before melting into dreamland. 

—

He wakes up, for real, face-down in a mess of blankets. His back feels like it’s been sliced open and the sun streaming in from a crack in black curtains hurts his eyes. He can’t contain a groan of mixed pain and other emotions as the memory of the lab escape floods back and brings tears to his sore eyes.

Minghao rushes in within the second, wearing a green apron and waving a wooden spoon. “You’re awake!” he grins, face lighting up in excitement as he looks on at Junhui’s pitiful state. “Are you doing okay? Your wing feathers are mostly burnt off and it damaged some skin underneath, but I think you should be fine, probably.” 

Junhui smiles back at Minghao, feeling truly content for the first time in his life. “Do you know what happened to everyone in the lab?” he asks, wincing a little as he rubs a burn on the sheets. 

Minghao’s smile disappears. “Um. No. No news reports or anything, but Seokmin was thinking of sending letters to some old addresses to see if he gets a response. What do you think?”

“Yes,” Junhui replies, firm. “I need to know what happened to Mingyu. Someone has to know.” He sits up, stretching his arms as much as he can without tearing healing, baby-pink skin. 

“We will find out, no matter what.” Minghao grips his hand comfortingly. “Are you hungry? I made soup.” 

Junhui looks into Minghao’s eyes for a moment, seeing stress and fear behind them, but relief takes over quickly at the news of his appetite. He leans in and kisses him, for real this time, lips slotting together as Minghao cups his cheek. 

“Yeah, I want soup.”

—

The letter comes in a few months later. Junhui is still living with Minghao in his little apartment. Seokmin brings it in, eyes red-rimmed as he hands it over. Junhui takes that as a bad sign. It’s scrawled in Jihoon’s messy hand that Junhui has read on medication sign-offs and leaves no greeting, just a few quick sentences. <

_Mingyu died. We think the water in his tank was heated up to a high point when one of the fires reached his room and he was scalded to death._

_Hansol died. He was still chained to the wall when he was found._

_Joshua is missing. Presumed dead._

_Jeonghan is missing, too. Not sure about him._

He stops reading after that. The news of Mingyu chokes him up, but he isn’t surprised. He had needed help, and Junhui wasn’t there to give it. 

Minghao wraps his arms around Junhui and presses his nose into his hair. Words are not needed to communicate his sorrow and they sit there for a while, tears running off Junhui’s nose onto the paper with little drips.

—

It’s been a year. Junhui has dyed his hair platinum blond and he no longer hides inside the comfort of his room all day. At his request, Minghao contacted some ex-military doctor friend of his, one who wouldn’t ask any questions, to remove his wings. 

Junhui hated them. They were a reminder of everything horrible in his life and every hellish thought that had ever crossed his mind. So he got rid of them. Minghao wrapped them in cloth and buried them somewhere, never to be seen again. 

Life is at least a little normal now. He still talks to Seokmin, who got a job at a cat cafe, of all things. Junhui visits on every day that he’s working, to coo over an elderly white cat named Cotton. 

He himself works in a little bookshop a few blocks away from the apartment. It keeps his mind off of Mingyu and other dark thoughts that swirl just beneath the fragile wall he’s built up in his brain. 

Every day, he thinks to himself, _I am Icarus. My wings melted and I tumbled towards the sea._

But he isn’t Icarus. One difference sets him apart. 

_He survived the fall._


End file.
